There was something strange about the guests of Cachtice Castle.

As Edda returned their curtsies, waiting with a practiced smile on her face for Lady Novak to greet each of the young women in turn, she felt a seed of something tremble deep within her. Perhaps it was the terror and anxiety of the past few days, at last culminating in some stress-induced physical affliction. Or, more likely, it was the majority of the plate of dried fruit turning her stomach. Surely, there could not be something that strange about the three perfectly normal young women before her.

She had largely forgotten them, if she was honest with herself. In the grand play of the last decade, they had each acted such brief and minor roles as to be completely and utterly forgettable. She had not befriended them the last time she had met them; instead, she had been perfectly cordial when with them and slightly intolerant of them otherwise. Like her, two had seen wealthy but common upbringing in the cities, and the last was the daughter of a gentryman from the further reaches of the Countess’s domain. They were not the polished, high-born girls she had hoped to befriend at the gynaeceum; rather, they were like her in most of the ways that mattered. And she remembered being gravely disappointed by it.

But now, she simply found it strange.

“And this is Miss Edda Belten of Hesse,” Lady Novak finished, turning to Edda with a smile, which Edda returned with a gratitude she hoped appeared genuine. Now that Lady Novak had given them leave to speak with her, each of the young women introduced herself in succession. And as they said their names, Edda’s memories of them began to trickle back.

Suzsanna Nemes of Cluj-Napoca held her pointy nose high and her thin lips tight; there was no welcome in her introduction. She was tall and slender as Edda herself, but her scoop-necked green gown emphasized a broadness about the shoulders that Edda did not have. She was the only aristocrat among them and, even though her father held no title, her attitude toward the other young women in the coming months would make it seem as though he did. Not much unlike how Edda herself had behaved, except Edda had been, and still was, nothing but a commoner.

Agneta Szalai of Buda and Cintia Molnar of Kosice were the other merchants’ daughters. Both tall and slim as well, Agneta carried herself with a stoop that contrasted Cintia’s willowy grace, and a manner as dark as Cintia’s was bright. The dresses they wore—of a navy blue and pale yellow respectively—were no less fine than Suzsanna’s, but they stood slightly apart from her, as though on the other side of some great divide. But where Cintia looked longingly at Suzsanna—and would work tirelessly to ingratiate herself to her during their stay—bespectacled Agneta looked rather miserably to her slippered feet, fidgeting and toying with her skirts uncomfortably. Although Edda had felt no kinship to Agneta before, she thought she experienced a moment of it now—Agneta certainly looked as ill at ease as Edda felt.

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Edda affirmed. Inside of her, that seed of something shuddered.

The Steward’s sonorous voice from just inside the dining room redirected their attentions toward supper, which was at last ready to be served. Edda’s fists clenched uncomfortably at the sight of him—still unable to shake the feeling that their earlier encounter had gone sour—but she inclined her head to him politely as the women passed with Lady Novak at their head. No matter her suspicions, she was determined to conceal them.

Although it was one of the smaller dining rooms, it still had an air of expense about it. A finely crafted oak table was the room’s centerpiece, already set with delicate porcelain plates and elaborate silver cutlery. Crystal goblets glinted in the light of the low-hanging chandelier, upon which dozens of lit candles flickered. Lady Novak took her seat at the head of the table. Behind her, the bust of a long-dead red stag on the mantle of the fireplace crowned her with antlers. To one side, the red-brown drapes had been pulled shut against the night that chilled the windows; and to the other, tapestries framed the archways through which the servants would bring their meal. It was here that the Steward positioned himself, overseeing the feast’s proceedings.

The guests arranged themselves about the table. Edda found herself seated beside Agneta, with Lady Novak to her left and a haughty Suzsanna opposite her. Suzsanna kept her eyes averted from Edda—as though to avoid looking at something unpleasant—excepting the occasional hostile glare. It was no matter. Edda was not now the same silly girl she had been a decade ago, when she had first met and been determined to prove herself Suzsanna’s equal, and more. No, Edda no longer wished to distinguish herself from the other girls, to prove herself more noble than they. This time, she wished to go entirely unnoticed.

Again, the seed of something, the seed of strangeness, twisted.

An older manservant attended them, starting with Lady Novak first. Sweet-smelling mead was poured into each of their goblets as Lady Novak addressed them, “It is not my first time dining with some of you,” she gave a knowing smile toward Suzsanna, Cintia, and Agneta, “But it is our first time dining all together.” She nodded her welcome toward Edda. “I extend to you all, once more, a welcome to Cachtice Castle on behalf of my lady, the Countess Bathory. She has arranged a feast in your honor, that you might forgive her absence in your enjoyment, and accept my presence in her stead.” She raised her goblet, “To our success in the coming seasons.”

Edda raised her own goblet, alongside the others. “To our success,” she repeated amidst them. The mead was cool and just slightly spiced; a familiar brew had at Cachtice Castle in the winters. Despite herself, Edda gulped down a second mouthful of it—suppressing memories of the times she had longed for such a simple pleasure as she lapped at the dripping water in the corner of her cell. Her injured wrist ached with how tense she felt. The only success she had in mind for the coming seasons was avoiding that fate.

On cue, the Steward announced the first dish, which was promptly served by a duo of servants; a board of freshly baked, sliced rye, and small plates of newly churned butter and cubed pâté. The bread still steamed, its scent enveloping the room; and Edda’s mouth watered for it. Like with the dried fruit in her chambers before, she felt a near uncontrollable urge to eat. But she stilled her hand with great effort, waiting for Lady Novak to take her portion before reaching for her own.

“Miss Belten, I must confess,” Lady Novak began after a moment, “I have never visited Hesse. I hear it has grown into quite the bustling town. Would you care to tell us of it?”

Edda could not remember if such a question had been asked of her before; but she knew that, back then, she would have been happy to speak of it. Now, she hesitated—not simply because of her desire to evade Lady Novak and the Steward’s attentions as much as possible, but also because of how distant her memories of Hesse felt. She forced herself to pause mid-bite. “It is, indeed. It has grown much in the years past.” She took her bite of buttered bread, quickly swallowed, and continued, “And it continues to. There is even a market there where anything can be bought.”

“I’ve heard that even goods from the East can be found there,” Cintia interjected, excitedly. She had a high-pitched voice which only enhanced her bubbliness.

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Edda nodded, trying to remember back to what Hesse had been like between mouthfuls. “There is some,” Edda admitted, “I have heard of medicines and perfumes, and the like. But I have not seen it myself. I am sure such things are commonplace in Buda, though.” Eager to pass the focus of the conversation to someone else, she turned to Agneta, who shot her a withering look.

Agneta spoke succinctly and without pleasure of the market in Buda, evidently unhappy to have to speak at all. Edda had the fewest memories of Agneta from her previous life, she realized, as she listened to the girl’s clipped and half-mumbled responses to each of Cintia’s cluelessly eager questions. Despite having features that would be striking on anyone else, Agneta seemed to lack both presence and a desire to make herself known. And that was why Edda’s single, clear memory about Agneta was her utter surprise at hearing of the girl’s marriage. Agneta had been the first to leave Cachtice Castle—and it had happened so quickly after the first ball of the summer, that Edda could only presume that some dalliance had occurred which had spurred the hasty nuptials.

The seed within her seemed to shake and crack, ever so slightly. Even as she raptly slathered salty pâté onto yet another slice of rye, she could feel that seed of something in her belly, struggling to sprout. It almost spurred her to eat, that she might suppress whatever it was.

Just as the second course was brought out, the conversation turned to the latest fashions. A succulent stuffed pheasant was placed upon the table and carved, alongside plates of fire-roasted carrots and potatoes. And while the other women picked at their plates, engaged in the discussion or—in Agneta’s case, completely apart from it—Edda ate. She managed to eat slowly, aware as she was of her surroundings, but she could not stop herself from taking bite after bite of the juicy meat and tender roots.

“And what of the newest fashions in Hesse, Miss Belten?” Lady Novak queried, drawing Edda back in.

Edda could not remember what the fashions in Hesse had been ten years ago, though she was sure that was knowledge she had once possessed. So, she described instead the gowns her father had purchased her; lighter colors in flowing materials, with lower necklines and fitted bodices. And finally, eager to continue her worried but relentless meal, she deflected the conversation to another of the table’s occupants, “Why, I have heard the styles are directly influenced by what is worn in Kosice. Miss Molnar’s gown looks to be at the very height of the year’s trends.”

Cintia’s fair cheeks flushed with pleasure as she launched into a discussion far more detailed than Edda could have hoped to muster; listing modistes from across the kingdom and describing how their talents had converged upon the gown she wore that very night. She meant no harm by it, Edda knew—Cintia was as innocent as a lamb in her intentions, and about as sly as one, too. Her growing fascination with Suzsanna would come from her genuine appreciation of all things rich, noble or close enough to them—a trait that would make her quite palatable to the young, soon-to-be-titled bachelors who attended the Countess’s balls. Her marriage had been expected, and quietly announced to Edda and Suzsanna just days before she departed back to Kosice to begin preparations for it.

Another tremor, and another fracture upon that seed of something.

The final course consisted of an almond torte; spongy, soft layers of nutty cake alternating with a sweet, mellow buttercream. Edda’s stomach throbbed uncomfortably in protest as a slice was set before her. But no; the thoughts that encroached upon the corner of her mind were too dreadful to consider. She could not allow them to take hold—not yet, not while she sat here at the table among these strange but perfectly normal young women—so instead she forked a fragrant morsel of the dessert into her mouth, nodding and smiling along as the conversation drifted now toward the lessons they would attend in preparation for the summer’s festivities.

“We must not take matters of etiquette lightly,” Lady Novak urged, “A poor dancer may yet rescue her worth with gracefulness in other matters.” Suzsanna and Cintia hummed their agreement eagerly, with Edda following suit. Beside her, Agneta poked rather listlessly at her torte—but Lady Novak seemed barely to register the girl’s lack of enthusiasm. “And a spot of wit is not to be underestimated, either.”

“Oh, I simply cannot wait to begin,” Suzsanna proclaimed to Lady Novak, twirling a lock of her black hair about her finger. Despite her supposed excitement, her smile appeared as more of a grimace. Suzsanna had almost exclusively spoken to Lady Novak this night, as though it were in fact only the two of them seated at the table. Such would be Suzsanna’s manner for much of the time they were resident at Cachtice Castle. Edda had not noticed it nearly as much the first time around, perhaps because she had been so caught up in herself, or perhaps because Cintia and Agneta had been there, also. But Suzsanna’s scorn had become all too evident after Cintia’s departure midsummer, and meals had become unbearably awkward. She and Edda had never warmed to each other, not in the slightest.

“We will start the day after tomorrow,” Lady Novak announced, “Tomorrow, let us convene for tea in the afternoon. We will talk more of the lessons, and of the summer to come.”

Edda had been secretly quite delighted when Suzsanna had been forced to return home near the end of the summer, due to her mother’s falling ill. Then, Edda had been the last one.

Her stomach cramped painfully. The seed broke, and sprouted.

Lady Novak rose first, followed by each of her guests. They each touted the extravagance of the meal, of which they ensured Lady Novak they were undeserving, expressed their gratitude, their joy, and bid her a good evening. Even Agneta did her dues, as was proper, so Edda pasted on her most thankful smile and did the same. At last, Lady Novak said her farewell, and a servant came to escort the young women back to their chambers, as others descended upon the dining room to clear the dishes and set it to rights.

But for Cintia’s occasional comments upon a painting or a tapestry—most of which were soundly ignored—they walked in silence back the way they had come. Up the tower, around and around, Edda’s head and stomach swirled with her realization. She trailed behind the group, studying them with wild eyes. Now that there was no food before her, now that there was nothing to distract her from it, the seed of fear grew and grew until she was certain it would erupt out of her mouth in a torrent.

The three, perfectly normal young women before her had been so like her in all of the ways that mattered, that she had been disappointed when she had first met them. She had been stupid and she had been silly, so she had been disappointed, and she had not realized just how similar they all really were. But the moment she had seen them again, the seed had appeared. She had known.

All of them had been raised well, but none of them were from particularly prominent families. An invitation from the Countess brought with it prestige, but their families would not be in a position to question her if one of them never returned. Each of them was tall, slim, fair-complexioned, with dark hair and a touch of color in their eyes. Certainly, they were different about the face—but none were displeasing to look at. If it hadn’t been for Edda’s decision to alter her appearance, the four of them might have been blood.

They had now reached the hallway along which their chambers would be found. Edda knew it was rude. She knew it was entirely untoward behavior. But even as Cintia paused before her own chamber door, turning to the group with a fair evening’s wish on her lips, Edda hurried on, nearly at a run. Her stomach lurched. Her head spun. She felt her meal rise in her throat.

“Miss Belten, are you quite alright?” she heard Cintia call after her, concern in her voice. There were other noises—perhaps a snort of derision from Suzsanna and an offering of help from the servant who still accompanied them—but Edda ignored them as she rushed toward her rooms.

She fell against the door, scrambling for the handle as her overfilled stomach roiled in shock and fear. How could she not have seen it before? How had she never noticed? They looked more like her than her own sister did. If she had resembled the Countess, so did they now. It was impossible, unfathomable that such a thing could have happened without some force of intent behind it. But she had been so focused on herself, both back then, and even in the past few days, that she had not even considered the possibility. She had not even entertained the thought that it would not be all about her. That she had never been the only candidate.

At last, the door was open, and Edda stumbled forward. She could hold it no longer. Marta, already inside, was rushing toward her, but it was no use. Everything she had realized this evening, every morsel of information and every swallow of fear, came rushing out along with the contents of her stomach.

Edda knew how this story would end; and she was starting to understand that there had never been any coincidences, right from the very beginning.